Ariel
by silvane
Summary: TF:A Sequel to Becoming. Off the spider planet, Elita-1 finds it harder to get rid of her organic half than she first thought. The Decepticon in her washrack isn't helping.


Becoming- Ariel

'Ariel' slipped out the back entrance of the so-called doctor, hands tight in fists. She spun around; kicking a battered oil can against the wall. The lecherous old pervert! As if he had a right to do such things! Rage turned her vision red, made her hands shake and her throat tight. She fumbled at the black fabric of her cloak, barely managing to pull it over her head, and then dashed out in the street. This was the last straw. None of these idiots knew anything more then she did about her condition, and she hadn't been stupid enough to think that cutting away the flesh would solve the problem. That was if the old fools didn't try to hit on her. If she wasn't trying to keep her head down, she would have reported the lot of them.

It was quite clear now, she realized, that if she wanted this fixed, she'd have to find someone of much higher skill, or do it herself. And when it was fixed, she'd track down the fraggers who had abandoned her on that primus-forsaken planet, shove her shiny metal sword through their processers, and _dance_ on their shells. 'Ariel' barely noticed the way the crowds pulled away from her. She was on a colony world, full of the dregs of society and those that fed on them. The only people who wore cloaks like her were dangerous, badly maimed, or both. She liked to think she fell in the third category.

She navigated the streets carefully, sweeping her cloak tight around herself. After nearly a vorn alone, other people disturbed her, just a little. They were so careless, so shallow. She remembered being younger, playing at being daring, exploring such places as this. They had seemed so dangerous and exotic, so full of mysteries. It was still exotic, but for the exact opposite reason as before. Still mysterious, for completely different reasons, but the danger was gone. She had killed giant _spiders_, had survived alone and unaided on an organic planet. A couple of burlymech bar brawlers thought they could frighten her?

_Pathetic._

* * *

'Ariel' unlocked the door to her cheap apartment, cycles rent paid by pawning the last of her energon cubes, checked her primitive thief traps, and then slammed the door closed. This colony was a bust. She had tracked down that medic in particular. He had gained a reputation among the smugglers and grey market mechs that become her people. He was famed for treating those that might have otherwise ended up strapped down to autobot autopsy table if they had gone to more legal establishments. After deca-cycles of waiting, 'Ariel' had finally gotten in, only to hear the prognosis: nothing could be done at this time. She had wanted to scream, to rage, but she refused to show such weakness in front of another.

Now, she let out a muted howl of rage. It wasn't _fair_, the childish autobot in her whined. She indulged for a moment, before forcing herself to control her reactions. She had the rest of the cycle before she lost her hold on the apartment. If she could get enough fuel for her ship, hidden on the colony outskirts, she could return to the spider planet. There she could regroup, refuel, maybe find another sword. She had to sell her beloved sword a colony before. She had needed to repair her ship, and her energon cubes wouldn't have covered it. She missed it terribly.

"Bad day?" A voice inquired. 'Ariel' hated it instinctively. It held every disdainful tone and crude innuendo she had ever faced in these backwater colonies. The mech speaking wasn't much better, rough and blocky with the patchwork of paint and welding that marked him rusher. Only a neat angular purple sigil marked him as anyone different than the tavern brawlers down the block.

"Yes," she snapped. "I've come home to find some short –chipped decepticon wannabe has invaded my wash racks. He hasn't even had the courtesy to use it." The last was spoken with the instinctive arrogance of a tower brat. She may have been the lowest of the low, but at least _she_ was clean.

"Mighty haughty for someone living in the slums, ain't ya fleshie?" He mech snarled back, his thin facade of civility breaking at the insult. Ariel choked back a snicker which the other seemed to interpret as a smothered gasp.

"That's right, femme. Ain't in the towers now, are ya? No body guards to keep ya safe," the mech said, sadistic pleasure in his voice. Ariel has a short moment of amusement before mentally shrugging. He was going to do much trouble intimidating the damsel in distress. Who was she to ruin all his hard work?

"Please," she whispered, trying to restrain laughter, "What do you want?"

"What I want, femme, is to know where you got the energon you've been pawning," he snarled, stepping closer to her and raising a hand to her head. She gasped, faking a step backwards. The mech followed her back, mere inches separating them.

"One problem," she murmured, "Why I can't tell."

"And what," he snarled, "is that?"

Yanking her cloak off, she leaned closer and snarled. "I don't scare that easy." She slammed pincers against his chest, turning up the cyber-venom's potency. He gasped, stiffened, and dropped. After a startled moment, she leaned over and placed a palm against his chest to scan for spark-energy. Nothing. She fumbled at his wrist, searching for a system signal. Flat. He was dead.

'Ariel' felt a sick. She'd never killed a sentient before. Never… Her vision blurred, and suddenly her organic frame choked and shuddered, and expelled the energon she'd consumed. Her legs buckled and she collapsed, staring blankly at the corpse. A cycle passed, then two. She couldn't bring herself to move. She'd never…spiders weren't the same. Voices in the next apartment startled her into action. She couldn't get caught. Who knew who was looking for this mech?

Numbly, she searched the body, trying to view it with the same detachment she had the corpses in the cave. She removed currency and key-chips from his subspace pockets and stole the blaster from his hand. Finally, she worked loose the shoulder panel marked with decepticon sigil. With hands still unnaturally steady, she dragged the body into the 'rack. She gathering her belongings, and re-donned her cloak, and headed out of the apartment.

* * *

'Ariel' swept her new ship, flushing any link to its former inhabitant. She wouldn't share the ship with the ghost of the mech she'd killed. Once all but the most basic or vital of the ship's content was removed, she began flipping through the one exception to that- the dead mech's datapads. Among them was a tersely worded command for 'Swiftshot' to investigate the sudden influx of energon into the outer colonies, 'for the glory of Lord Megatron'. It was signed Lugnut. After reading that, she retreated to the newly-padded berth she'd claimed as her own. She turned the shoulder panel over in her hands, absentmindedly tracing the sigil's lines.

"So you actually are a Decepticon, huh?" she asked the air, thinking about the dead mech lying in the washrack back at the apartment. She tossed the panel up in air. "How'd that work out for you?" She laughed, a little shakily, catching it. The Decepticons…they had ways of tracking energon sales. Maybe ways of tracking other things too. If she joined them, she'd have access to that as well. She might be able to find a way to fix herself.

She smirked suddenly, forcing away guilt and grief with skill she'd learned in the caves. There was no reason to feel guilty. None at all. She had mechs to find, and cure to locate. One idiot with a blaster wasn't worth her grief.


End file.
